The Butterfly Effect
by Ventisquear
Summary: Aira Surana is the new Warden Commander. What others says about her: Maker, she's beautiful! -Alistair; She's a deadly sex goddes! -Zevran; She has a brain of a butterfly. -Sten What she says about that: She doesn't like monsters, morons and rude people. She likes butterlies. Especially ICE butterflies.
1. Less than Ideal

_The flap of butterly wings in Ferelden can set of a storm over whole Thedas_ ~Magiser Tlaxius, one of the last fools who tried to invide Ferelden

Dedicated to Suilven and Josie Lange, who poked me into this.

Thanks to my wonderful beta Seika for her help.

* * *

Their first meeting was… less than ideal. She appeared just as he was delivering the message from the Revered Mother to one of the Senior Enchanters. The man was an annoying fool, and Alistair couldn't resist making a few sarcastic comments. Watching the man storming away, muttering unflattering sinful remarks about where the Revered Mother can shove her orders was almost pure pleasure–marred with the tiniest speck of guilt, as he knew Duncan wouldn't like it.

Then, he turned and saw the most peculiar… woman. Girl. Well, a female elf. With skin white like the snow at noon on a crisp winter day; a pair of big, amethyst orbs glaring at him from under the veil of long eyelashes, fluttering like the wings of butterflies, and short, aubergine locks that reached to her slightly pointed chin. Of course, that wasn't what he thought at that moment. Those poetic thoughts came to him much later, as he lay in his tent, befuddled and dizzy. At that moment, all he could think of was, _Wow. She's… wow_.

He felt he needed to say something, you know, something _clever_. He opened his mouth– "You don't happen to be another mage, do you?" He groaned inwardly. Oh great, Alistair. Just great. Why did his brain always betray him like this?

"Of course not," came the reply in a tone that could only be described as icy cold. "This is just my walking stick, and I wear the robe because I _love_ this shade of dirty yellow."

Luckily, this time his brain cooperated a bit and stopped the comment that the dirty yellow wasn't her colour at all before he said it aloud. But that was as far as its cooperation went.

"No offence," he said, "I was just wondering if I was in a danger of being turned into a toad."

Her eyebrows went up. "A _toad_? Tch. I'd never do something that crude."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean–"

"I prefer butterflies. They make pretty hair clips. And brooches."

"Butterflies? And... they don't fly away?"

"I freeze them before I attach the pin, of course."

"Of course," he repeated dumbly, not sure if she was joking or not.

"I'm looking for Warden Alistair," she said. "Do you perhaps know where I can find him?"

"That would be me. And you are?"

She sighed. "Damn. I hoped it wouldn't be you. I get out of that cursed prison, and the first person I need to work with is a mage hater. Just my luck."

"I'm not a mage hater," he hurried to explain. "It's just my Templar training-"

"Even better," she said dryly. "I'm going to talk to Duncan again. He can't be serious about this." She turned back and headed back to the camp.

"Oh, he can," he chuckled as he joined her. "Duncan is a great man, but when he makes up his mind, nothing can change it. He just stares at you in that Duncan-ish way, you know, _like this_–without saying a word, until you submit."

That made her giggle. "I know. He tried that on me, too, a few times, during our trip here. Ha! It's the oldest trick in the book–the only one old guys use, in fact. Greagoir tried it all the time. All you need to do is to stare back more and longer than they do, you know."

Alistair laughed, though he had a suspicion that she wasn't joking. One thing was sure, he thought as they walked to Duncan's fire–with this recruit, life wouldn't be boring.


	2. Priorities

Thanks to Seika for her help. :)

* * *

"Do you already have a plan? Where should we go first?"

Aira frowned. "We should do as Morri's Mum suggested and go find those allies. I'm not sure where we should go first, but I don't want to go back to Tower so soon. What do you think, Morri?"

"I suggest we go to Denerim, and deal with Loghain first."

"Oh, yes. What a _great_ idea." Alistair rolled his eyes. And the witch said _he_ was stupid. "Two Wardens and a hag against the Regent and his whole army."

"Hm... I don't know, Morri. Alistair's got a point."

"Of course I have a point. And no need to sound so surprised. Besides, finding the allies is more urgent." He shot a triumphant look at Morrigan, but she only smirked.

"We could visit the elves on our way. And even if we don't kill Loghain, we can at least go shopping."

"Shopping?"

Alistair groaned.

"I heard there are great shops in Denerim. There are even tailors who make custom robes-"

"All right, then. We'll go to Denerim!" Aira clapped her hands. "Let's go, let's go!"

Damn. But he _almost_ won this time. "But we'll stop with the elves, right?"

"Sure, sure, if you insist. Now, then, let's go! We can't waste time! Shops, I mean elves, are waiting!"


	3. The Importance of the First Impression

"You want to take him with us?"

"Yes. Is there any reason I shouldn't?"

Alistair couldn't believe his ears. But perhaps he shouldn't be surprised. She had spared that horrible Qunari murderer, as well. Despite knowing perfectly well that he had slaughtered a whole family, including little children. They were kind to him, treated his wounds, and he had slaughtered them all just because _they didn't know where he had left his sword_. On the other hand, she only allowed Leliana, a nice and sweet Chantry sister who had helped them out when Loghain's guards had attacked them, only after he had _begged_ her for it.

The bandits and werewolves they had encountered since Lothering were all either dead or adorning the girls' hair robes as ice butterflies brooches and hair clips. Even Leliana had a few–she said that while the way the brooches were made was horrible, they were too lovely. She despised her weak mind for relenting, but she couldn't force herself to throw them away.

"Because… you know, he's an assassin. And he tried to assassinate _us_," he offered. "Why not deal with him like with the others? I'm sure he'd make for a lovely brooch."

Aira dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "I already have enough to open a store. And besides, it would be a waste to kill someone like him."

"I agree," said Sten. "His assassin skills might be useful."

"Oh, that, too," agreed Aira with a nod. "But more importantly, how often you get someone with that great look and a sense of humour offering to serve you? No, Alistair. He stays."

Alistair glared at the smirking assassin. Maybe Morrigan could make up some poison–wait. Was that him considering cooperation with Morrigan? Really? He considered it for a second and then rejected it. That would be even more dangerous.

"I just hope we won't regret it," he muttered in the end. Aira gave him his sweetest smile. It almost made the risk worth it.


	4. Almost Ideal

Big thanks to Seika for her help. And Aira sends air kisses to all her readers, reviewers and fans. :)

* * *

Their first meeting was... almost ideal. Exciting, dangerous and sexy. First he had almost killed her, his arrow missing her head by centimetres, and then she had thrown a freezing spell at him, aiming damnably low. He wasn't wearing any leggings, so the result was that he almost lost few bits. That would be a pity–once they were in a relationship, those parts would be sorely missed by both of them.

And he was quite determined to be in a relationship with her. First, she was the most exotic elven being he had ever met. The Antivan ladies would kill for that alabaster skin and the amaranthine hue of her hair. On the third or fourth day, he had made the mistake of asking her what she used as a dye. As he was fluttering around, unable to suppress the instinct to pollinate a flower or two or a dozen, he realized two things. That to seduce this strange crazy Warden would be the biggest challenge of his life. And that even Ferelden flora smelled of wet dogs.


	5. In a Whirl

"Well? What do you think?" The skirt of her new dress whirled around her as Aira made a pirouette.

_Maker, but she's beautiful!_ The dress was one shade darker violet than her hair; it contrasted with her white skin and although the cut was rather plain–farmgirl cut, the shop assistant said before Leliana quickly sent him to find some accessories–it did bring up her, ah... assets.

"You look-" he started, but stopped when he heard how croaky it sounded. He coughed. "Wonderful."

"That, my dear Alistair, is the worst understatement ever," said Zevran.

Alistair frowned. He didn't like how the annoying assassin was watching Aira, as if he would start drooling any moment. The dress was pretty, but if it meant that Zevran would get to stare at her like this every day… Alistair bristled. No. That was unacceptable.

"But maaaaybe you should think about it," he said. "It's a bit… impractical, don't you think?

She pouted. "You don't understand fashion at all," she declared. "And it's not impractical. That old robe had such a tight skirt–it was almost impossible to walk in it, let alone run or fight. I can move so much more freely in this."

She made another pirouette. "And I always wanted to have a skirt like that, you know. There was this book, in the Tower, about a little elf girl who did nothing but dance in the sunlight, free as a bird, for the whole spring and summer and the whole autumn, too, and everyone admired her. There were pictures of her doing pirouette, and the skirts whirling around her. I always envied her that..."

"And in the winter?" Sten asked.

"In the winter she couldn't dance in the sunlight anymore and she was cold and hungry. So she went to those people who admired her dance, and asked them for help. But those bastards said she should have thought about it earlier. That if she hadn't spent her days lazing in the sunlight and worked like decent people, she wouldn't have to beg now. And they let her starve to death."

"They were right," said Sten.

"We had a similar story in the seminary," said Alistair, to avoid another row between Aira and Sten. "Only it was about an elf boy who played the violin. The point being that you must work hard to earn your food-"

"And coincidentally, both were elves," Zevran pointed out, with a shrill edge to his voice.

"That's not the point," Aira said, looking disappointed. "The point is, she made them happy with that dance–yet when she was in trouble, nobody wanted to help, and they let her die. That's not fair."

"Which reminds me," Leliana cut in, "you still need a coat, a cap, a few pairs of stockings, at least one pair of gloves and a shawl. Winter will come sooner than you think."

The shop assistant emerged from shadows, with hands full of clothes. "These are the latest fashion, and top quality, right from Orlais," he said.

Alistair sighed. The plan hadn't worked at all. If anything, Zevran was staring at Aira even more now. He could only hope it would get cold early this year and she would have to wear that long coat.

* * *

"the farmgirl cut" - when I put the cover picture of 'princess Aira' at devArt, Bloosong's Bannon Tabris said she looked like a farmgirl (to be fair, she laughed at his doll version first). The cover picture is made with the Princess Maker at Dolldivine dot com, and slightly edited.

Huge thanks to Seika for her help and comments! ^^


	6. Too Confusing

"We should move on. You are a Warden, too. It is your duty to remind the Commander what must be done. Explain priorities."

Alistair sighed. Leave it to Sten to do his best to ruin the free afternoon. Yes, they could still make ten or fifteen kilometres before dark. But they were all exhausted and drenched in darkspawn blood–they had already been in four fights! Who could blame the girls for deciding not to go any further and calling it a day?

And what a lovely day it was, now that they could enjoy it. The sky was spotless, like a brat who had his face rubbed by a strict nurse, the grass soft and smelling of herbs, and air full of butterflies, glittering in the morning sun like colourful gems. Alistair could almost feel his soul and heart filling up with the peaceful joy of this place. The girls were sitting apart from the rest of them like three beautiful flowers–well, two beautiful flowers and one poisonous thistle–giggling and throwing occasional side glances towards him and Zevran. The annoying assassin was 'sunbathing', as he called it, meaning he was lazing on the ground like a big yellow cat. _Half-naked_. He had his eyes closed, but Alistair suspected he was well aware of glances and giggling. Sten was the only one who had any objections.

"We all need some rest," he replied. "You as well. Just relax and enjoy the beauty of this place. Isn't this more magnificent than any picture? Take that butterfly for example–isn't it beautiful? Full of energy and joy... just like Aira..."

Sten was mused over it for a moment. "I see," he said in the end. "Running around without any sense or a plan, ignorant of dangers, and unconcerned with the consequences. Yes. He is just like that butterfly."

"That's not what I–wait. _He?_ You mean Zevran?"

"The assassin is a fool but not that big," said Sten. "I was talking about the Commander."

"Then why do you call her 'he'?"

"Your words are confusing. The Commander is a man. How else should I call him?"

Alistair turned to him. "A man? You think Aira is a man?"

"What else could he be?"

"A woman, of course."

"A woman?" Zevran joined in. "Ah, my friend Alistair, I have to correct you. She's so much more. A purple vision of femininity, that's what she is. A deadly sex goddess... And with curves to die for."

Alistair blushed angrily. He didn't like what Zevran saying such things about Aira. Not that they weren't true, but Zevran shouldn't be saying them. Because... well, just because. But before he could tell him so, Sten cut in.

"That can't be," he insisted. "Women can't fight. They are teachers. Or priests. They do not fight."

Alistair gaped at the warrior.

"But surely you have noticed this is not true in Ferelden, no?" asked Zevran. "Even in our group, our beautiful leader is not the only woman. There are also Morrigan and Leliana, no?"

"I do not understand." Sten frowned. "Are you saying they are both women as well? Even _saarebas_?"

"Of course they are women! How can you ask something that dumb? Is something wrong with your eyes?"

Zevran chuckled. "Ah, Alistair. What do you know what secrets is our lovely Morrigan hiding? Perhaps Sten should check-"

"Maker, you're terrible," muttered Alistair. "Don't listen to him," he turned to Sten. "And whatever you do, never ever tell the girls you thought they were men. Leliana might have mercy with you, though I'm not sure of that. But those two? They would shred you to pieces and make a stew of it."

Sten glared at him as if he was mad. "I do not understand. Are you now saying I am a lamb?"

* * *

Hm... Now here's a question: if a gender is a social contstruct, does that mean Sten was right and Zevran and Alistair are in fact sexists?

Zevran was also readings comments on devart. He stole 'purple vision of feminity from Oleander's One, and 'the curves to die for' from Josie Lange. :)

Thanks to my dear friend Seika for her help. :)


	7. The Power of Words

"Aira, my dear. You look even lovelier than before. Fresh air did you good."

"I disagree. I think she looks pale."

"Ah, another failed attempt at sarcasm, I see."

Zevran couldn't suppress his grin. These two should perform in front of audience. He already had a clear vision of the hoarding: The Knight Commander Greagoir would be to the left, all restrained silver, grey and black, while the First Enchanter Irving would be to the right... but the colours of his robes would have to be more vivid, he decided. Pea green and strawberry red, for example.

Aira sighed. "I'm gone for a few months and everything falls apart. How could you let that old fugly fool state a rebellion? You were able to discover a small fry like Jowan, but you never suspected an ass like Uldred? I am disappointed, Groggy."

"I told you not to call me that," muttered the old man. "You're not a child any more. I'm Knight Commander Greagoir, thank you. And you are the Warden Commander. You should act your position."

"Oh, _she_ does. Unlike you, Knight Commander Let's-Nullify-All-Mages-Old-Friends-Or-Not."

"Oh please." Greagoir rolled his eyes. "How long will you hold that detail against me? You got out of there, didn't you?"

"No thanks to you. The Warden Commander here got me out. _Three hours ago_."

"Well it's not my fault that you let one of your trusted councillors betray you and almost ruin the whole Circle."

"The key word there is 'almost'. And the damage wouldn't be half as bad if your Templars were more competent."

"I don't have time for this," intercepted Aira dryly. "Look, just tell me if you'll help with the blighted Archdemon and then you can continue with your bickering."

"Don't worry about that. We'll be ready at your call," Irving assured her affectionately.

She raised her bow at him. "And if I call for you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Have some mercy with old bones! I was almost tortured today."

Greagoir snickered. "The key word is 'almost'. But he's right this time. Even the Templars need some rest. We'll be ready at your call, certainly, but do try not to call us for a month or two."

"Oh great. First the Dalish, now you. Let's just hope old Archie will be willing to wait for everyone." Aira glared at the old men, but they just shrugged. Some things couldn't be sped up.

Zevran chuckled. "Maybe your tutors here would agree to entertain him while their men prepare?"

"Unacceptable," she declared. "That would kill him for sure and Duncan insisted it's crucial that the Archdemon is killed by one of Grey Wardens. Our fame, image and state contributions all depend on it, you know."

"They why not let them join?" Zevran suggested. "Turn them into Greybeards, and they can defeat the Achdemon merely by the power of words!"

For old men who were almost tortured just few hours ago, they could walk pretty fast.


	8. Needling

Aira put down the book and looked at Alistair. Leliana swore that all in the book was all true and worked. In Orlais, she said, no lady would waste her time on a man who didn't score well by _Are You Meant For Each Other?: The Relationship Quiz Journal_.

"Hey Al," she asked, "on the scale of zero to one hundred, how much would you score our relationship?"

Alistair, who was fighting a futile fight with a needle and a thread, in an even more futile attempt to mend his sock, looked up at her.

"Score?"

"Yes. How would you rate the quality of our conversations, for example? This one, let's say. If you had to give it approval or disapproval points, what would you give and how many?"

Alistair cursed and sucked the drop of blood from the finger he pricked again. "I don't know," he said. "Look, do you have to ask me now? I'm trying to focus, here."

"Just give it to Gran. I'm sure she'll be happy to help," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "This is more important."

"I already tried, but Wynne said it's finally time for me to learn to take care about myself, because she won't be here forever," he complained. "And it's nonsense. Who scores their talk with approval and disapproval points?"

Aira pouted. "You never do anything I want."

"Oh for the Maker's sake... This conversation? Minus two disapproval points," he snapped.

"_Disapproval_?" Moron. She's trying to turn their healthy relationship into the perfect relationship, and what was he doing? Playing with his needle!

"Well, yeees, but–but, in the beginning, it was plus for points of approval! So – so in total, it's, it's... thirty seven. Satisfied?"

"Thirty seven," she repeated slowly, trying to decide if she should be offended that he didn't say full hundred, or pleased that he was realistic. It was, after all, a sign of certain maturity, right? The silly assassin, for example would say-

"Tsk, tsk, Alistair. Only thirty seven, with this deadly goddess? How rude. If it was me, it would be at least fifty one."

And he looked up at her, those amber eyes shining with laughter. How dare he? She could say that those thirty seven points were the sign of Alistair's maturity. But nobody in their right mind would call the silly assassin mature. He was one of those rare persons who were old-he was over twenty seven-and yet childish. And that was why from him, it was pure insult. Eh. He wasn't worth her time.

"One more chance, Al–I mean, one more question. Listen carefully. Right, then. At what stage you would say our relationship is right now? Interested, Warm, Friendly, Love?"

Alistair gaped at her. "I-interested?" he asked.

She wasn't sure if that was a question or an answer, but, before she could clarify it, the silly assassin interrupted again.

"Warm, here. Very warm."

"Do you want me to cool you down?" she asked threateningly, but it didn't work.

"Ah, on the contrary. I'd like to warm you, as well. Shall we retreat into my tent?"

Another moron. Why is she surrounded by morons? Why she couldn't meet a handsome, nice, clever and brave man, like those in the books Leliana gave her? Her life was doomed. Even worse. It was boring like the Void. She sighed.


	9. Boys Will Be Boys

Huge thanks to Seika for her help. And thanks to all readers and reviewers for reading this story.

* * *

The atmosphere in the room was as freezing as if Aira had casted one of her spells. Alistair was half surprised there were not breathing out little clouds. Why did that annoying assassin have to be so stubborn? What work would an assassin have in the Deep Roads?

"I'll go with her. It's a tradition of Grey Wardens. And you're not a Warden, thank the Maker."

"Tsk, tsk. Such cruel words, my dear Alistair! It is true, you are a Warden. So we can't risk your life, no? Besides, it's a tradition for Wardens when they want to _die_."

"Yes, but–wait. How do you know that?"

"You said so yourself." There was the most irritating grin on the assassin's face.

"I said so to Aira!"

"Was that supposed to be one of the famous Wardens secrets? Then perhaps you should have chosen a more discreet place to tell her, no?"

"We were in her tent when I told it to her."

"Ah, but canvas are not walls, no?"

"So you _were_ eavesdropping."

"You wound me. I would never do something that crude. But your sudden desire to have a talk with our charming Commander in the privacy of her tent _might have_ piqued my interest."

Alistair balled his fists. Oh, how he'd love to wipe that smirk from those ugly big lips! What did girls like about this guy? He looked and sounded like a frog. An annoying, tattooed frog. With an _accent_. "That's so childish. See, that is why I don't want you in the Deep Rods. She needs someone mature and responsible."

"Childish? I am not the one who plays with dolls."

"They're not dolls! They're statuettes! It's art! Not that I'd expect someone as vulgar as you to appreciate art."

"I have already told you, Alistair. Canvas are not walls."

"What are you- "

"Die, you terrible White Dragon, die!"

"That's–I wasn't–it was just–!"

"You're adorable when you blush."

That was it. The assassin dies here! He was reaching for his sword, when a pointed cough behind his back interrupted him.

"What do you want, Leliana?" he snapped.

"I just wanted to inform you that Aira left."

"She–what?"

He shot a quick glance at Zevran, but it seemed that for once, the annoying assassin was just as surprised as he was.

"She left half an hour ago," Leliana said with undisguised delight. She was also in the group that had to stay behind–she, Wynne, Sten and _one of the two of them_.

"But–why–"

"She's having us on, Alistair. My Aira would never do such thing. This is just a pathetic attempt at a joke, because she's envious, yes?"

Leliana's smile stiffened. "No, not at all. She had no time to wait till you two morons stopped arguing. Her words, those."

They watched her leave, humming a merry melody under her breath.

"This is all your fault, assassin."

"My fault? If you were more mature and just agreed to stay here, all would be fine, no?" Zevran flashed a toothy smile at him.

They continued like that for a while, Alistair's murderous intent increasing by every word the annoying assassin said, until the puck hit the bell. Perhaps there was a bright side of being left behind–at least he could get rid of this pest once and for all, now that Aira wasn't here to interfere. Judging by the gleam in Zevran's eyes, he had just made the same decision.

They pulled out their weapons–

"Boys! Lunch!" Wynne's voice chimed from the hall. They both sighed and returned weapons into scabbards. Normally, Wynne was a kind, if boring, old lady, but when annoyed she could transform into a poisonous hag with surprising ease. The two of them arguing was bad enough; if they were also late for dinner…

"This is not over yet," Alistair growled.

"Any time you wish, my dead friend," Zevran snapped.

They glared at each other-

"_Boys!_"

With another sigh, they walked out of the room side by side, neither of them willing to show their backs to the other one–and, more importantly, to be the last one at the table.


	10. The Ways of a Lady

The fight had to be delayed, however. Zevran had spent the whole afternoon doing tasks for Wynne–collecting mushrooms, delivering healing potions to ill dwarves, or running to the Shaperate for a tome the Shapers had promised to lend her. When he finally returned to the house, he was too tired to lift a fork. At least Alistair was even worse. He had had to chase escaped nugs all across the Orzammar; then Leliana decided to save them from the cruel but tasty end as nug pancakes, and had asked Alistair to take them to Bodahn, until she found a better solution. It took him three trips all the way to the surface.

Zevran flashed a smile at his rival across the table. Being a secretary to a famous spirit healer was much better than being a nug nanny, as he had already hinted for a few times, when the ladies couldn't hear him.

They were just finishing their meals when they heard a happy mabari barking. And there was only one mabari in Orzammar. Zevran leapt up from the chair and raced downstairs to the entrance door, but Alistair was faster. With a triumphant 'Ha!' he opened the door–and the next moment, a huge mass of fur and teeth leaped on him.

"Getoffme!" he wailed. "Toothie, gettoff!" The mabari ignored him, determined to lick every part of his face thoroughly first.

With an overweening smile, Zevran stepped over the fool to greet Aira who was pattering towards the house on those sinful high heels.

"Zevran, Alistair!" She waved them. Zevran felt an irrational pang of joy that she mentioned his name first.

"Already back?" he asked, grinning widely. "You, my dear, are ridiculously awesome."

"Naturally," she replied haughtily. "But this time, I just came back for you. I've changed my mind, see. You… still want to go, right?"

Zevran couldn't believe his luck. "Ah my dear Warden. Did you miss me? Of course I will come. I am your man, no?"

She beamed at him, and turned to Alistair who had finally managed to convince the mabari to let him go and scrambled back to his feet. "And what about you, Al? Will you also join the expedition to unravel the mysteries of the Deep Roads?"

"With pleasure," he said, shooting triumphant look at Zevran.

"Then you better go pack yourself. No time to waste!"

"I am already packed," Zevran quickly assured her. "I had no doubts this would happen. I am too irresistible to be left behind, no?"

Alistair rolled his eyes. "I'm packed too," he said. "Grey Wardens are always ready."

"Excellent!" Aira clapped her hands excitedly. "Just as I expected from my two favourite boys! Hurry up and get ready, then. Toothie will take you to the others, you should reach them in an hour or two."

"Toothie will take us?" Alistair asked incredulously. "What about you?"

Aira looked at him, surprised. "Why, haven't you heard me? I said I changed my mind. The Deep Roads are no place for a lady."


	11. Lessons Learned

"Are you still angry with me for not going into the Deep Roads?"

"..."

Aira sighed. To think he had said _she_ was being childish. This silent game of ignoring her presence was quickly getting boring and irritating.

"But, it was a wise decision. Surely you agree that for such a mission, it's better to take two experienced and skill warriors instead of one weak girl?"

"..."

"It's not that I was doing nothing. While you guys were fighting, I had to negotiate the conditions with those two baboons; so that whoever the Paragon chooses, we can still have a good army."

"..."

"And, we all improved our skills! I improved my diplomacy, and you became much better at self-restraint."

"...!"

She giggled at his effort not to choke on an angry grunt and the supposedly scary glare he shot at her. "See? You just proved my point!"

"… Perhaps," he murmured. "But I warn you, Kadan. Next time you force me to be the caretaker of those two, I will not restrain myself. I will kill them."

* * *

Sorry for delay! Aira is back and there should be again two chapters per week.

Thanks to my wonderful beta and dear friend Seika for her help. :)


	12. The Courage of a Man

Alistair liked to think that he was not a coward. He had faced darkspawn, blighted animals twisted into grotesque caricatures by the Taint, werewolves, demons and abominations, a broodmother and deepstalkers, and even the spiders, all without fear. Well, maybe not completely without fear, but he didn't feel the urgency to flee to the other end of the world. And beyond, if possible.

Unlike now.

Every little step closer to Redcliff was a huge jump closer to his doom. He sighed. Here was as good as anywhere, he decided. Better, in fact. What once was a pasture for cattle from a nearby farm, was now neglected and overgrown with weeds and wild flowers. If he was to be a butterfly, he might as well be one in a nice environment. Perhaps it could even be fun, like Zevran said.

With that as an encouragement, deliberately pushing away thoughts of Zevran's reasons for saying that, he turned to Aira.

"I need to tell you something." he murmured. "In private," he added more loudly when he noticed Zevran's ears wiggle.

Aira was surprised, but nodded, and they walked away from others. Wide pastures had one advantage: even assassins and shape-shifted hags had nowhere to hide for "accidental" eavesdropping.

"I… well… you remember how I told you that I grew up in Redcliffe, that Eamon raised me as his own?"

"Of course. Hard to forget a tale about the man with the heart of gold, who raises a little bastard with his own dogs."

"It wasn't his fault. His wife-"

"Yes, blame it all on a _woman_, now."

"That's not-"

"If he wasn't a coward, he would never have let her bully you."

"She didn't really bully me–she just treated me like any other servant, and anyway, that's not-"

"With his approval! I don't see any kindness in that."

"It could have been much worse, if he hadn't protected me," he said, annoyed. Eamon _was_ a good man, despite marrying Isolde. Besides, he married her because he loved her. She might seem like a bossy, short-tempered shallow witch, but for Eamon, she was the most precious being on the world.

Aira snorted. "By sending you off to the Chantry to become a doped, brainwashed mage hunter. Forgive me if I'm not impressed."

"All right, I get it, he's a terrible person," he said, suppressing an exasperated sigh. "The thing is he did it because–" he stopped. Aira stood there grim and obstinate, an executor of the Maker's just wrath. If he told her now that Eamon did it because he was the king's son…

"Because?" she asked. "What other excuse do you have?"

"None," he said hastily.

"Good. It's time for you to face the truth: that man is neither family, nor a kind patron. He's a cowardly, selfish, bastard, and I'm not afraid to say it to his face!"

No, _she_ wasn't afraid, Alistair thought as they joined the others. The doom was inevitable now. And, he had to admit… he couldn't wait to see it happen.


	13. Family Memories

During the way to Redcliffe, Alistair prayed to the Maker to find a way, _any_ way, to delay the meeting between Aira and his almost-relatives, at least until he had a better chance to explain everything to her. When they reached the town, half ruined and in total chaos, he felt a pang of guilt–next time, he would remember to tell the Maker not to take him so literally.

The guard took them to the Chantry; to Alistair's surprise there was Teagan, commanding a group of peasants to pull up more barricades on the main road from the castle.

"Perhaps he's at war with Arl Eamon," Aira suggested. "I _told you_ the Arl is not a good man."

"This man is the Arl's brother, Aira. He'd never do something like that. Something must have happened at the castle."

Teagan turned to them. "And who might you be, if I may ask?"

"Don't you remember me, Teagan? Well, it's been some time, I guess, and the last time I we met I was covered in mud, but..."

Teagan's eyes widened with recognition. "Alistair! I'm so glad to-"

"Wait," Aira stopped them. "What's this about the mud? I know Alistair was raised as a stable boy, but-"

Alistair sighed. "Not now, Aira. I – I just fell, all right? We have more important things to solve now. What's happening here, Teagan?"

"I don't really know, to tell the truth. Every night, we are attacked by living corpses. They come from the castle, and at sunrise, they again retreat there..."

Before he could reply, Aira stomped. "Are you trying to ignore me, Alistair? How ridiculous. Who cares about a bunch monsters? We've been fighting monsters for months. And these are even already dead. It won't be a problem, so-"

"Let me guess. You plan to freeze and butterflize all of them, yes?" Zevran asked, apparently highly amused.

"Of course not," Aira snapped haughtily. "That would totally destroy the market. Now, back to important business, if you don't mind–I want to know about that mud and, while you're at it, also everything about Alistair's life here, if you please."

Teagan gaped at her, speechless.

"Well?" Aira quirked her brow. "I don't have time all day, you know."

Teagan blinked and finally came to his senses. "Who is this woman, Alistair?" he asked weakly.

"This woman," Zevran replied, his eyes flashing dangerously, "is the Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, Aira Surana. I recommend you to treat her with respect, yes?"

"The- what? Oh, I-I'm sorry, I didn't realize..." Teagan tried to apologize, blushing like a coy maiden.

"Never mind," Aira assured him. "Now, could you answer my questions?"

Alistair looked at her face, bright and eager, at blushing Teagan completely unaware of Zevran's murderous glares, and groaned. This would be a very long morning.


	14. On Hypocrisy

Big hug to Seika for her help, and comments. :D

Thanks to all that still follow this story despite my random updates and replies, and an extra butterfly brooch from Aira for all that review it. :D

* * *

**On Hypocrisy**

Unbelievable. I can't believe it! It's –"

Zevran sighed. "Unbelievable, yes. I believe you have said so a few dozen times already, Alistair. Why don't you sit down and take a break? Your stomping and whining gives me headache."

"Shut up. I'm not talking to you, you… hypocrite!"

Zevran sighed again. "Such a _terrible_ word! It wounds me so, I will bleed to miserable death. May I at least know how I deserved it?"

Finally, Alistair stopped and turned to him. "How you deserved it? Don't play dumb, Zevran! You supported every foolish decision Aira made today, you told her to free a maleficar who poisoned my uncle, and then even let him go into the Fade and risk him finishing the business! And you only did it to get into her panties-"

Zevran's patience was steadily diminishing whole evening, as Alistair yelled first at Aira, then at Leliana and then continued in their room; it finally evaporated into oblivion somewhere around the word 'business'. It was only thanks to tremendous self-restraint that Alistair wasn't lying on the floor with several daggers in his chest.

"Silence," Zevran hissed, and he had to look murderous enough, because Alistair shut up. "I have had enough of this tantrum. Jowan is a fool who was tricked by Loghain. Like Duncan. Would you kill Duncan because he was stupid enough to believe the Regent?"

Alistair's face turned red. "Duncan was not a maleficar!"

"Neither was Jowan! A failed poisoner, perhaps. And he regretted it and was severely punished! Why is it not enough?"

"Because half the city died because of it!"

"And because of Duncan, darkspawn massacred half of the army!"

"Stop comparing that pathetic excuse of a human to Duncan!"

"That pathetic excuse of a human is Aira's best friend!"

"That's irrelevant!"

"Only to a hypocrite like you!"

"You're a hypocrite, not me!"

"No, you are!"

"I'm not, you are!"

"Is repeating all you can do? You're pathetic!"

"If I'm pathetic then you are–"

But Zevran never found out what he was if Alistair was pathetic, because there was a sharp knock on the door; not waiting for a reply, the door opened and in stormed a very annoyed Wynne.

"Are you two fighting again?"

"He started it!"

Wynne muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse. "Now listen carefully, for I will tell this only once. I have had a difficult day, healing dozens of injured people, and tomorrow will be the same. I need to rest. If I hear one more shout, anything louder than a whisper, in fact, from this room you will spend the whole next week preparing valerian extracts."

"But Aira is leaving to search the Urn tomorrow," Zevran protested meekly.

"Then be sure to stay quiet," Wynne snapped. She gave them the last disgusted glare, turned on her wheel and left.

"This is all your fault," Zevran whispered accusingly the moment the door closed behind her.

"Mine? Yours!" Alistair whispered back.

"You're like a ten year old."

"You're like a _five_ year old."

"See? This just proves what I said."

"All it proves is that you're a fool."

"No, you're a fool."

"No, you're a fool."

Quietly, but passionately, the dispute continued through half the night, but remained unsolved.


End file.
